


Threat

by seven_seventy_seven



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dry Humping, Emotional Abuse, Forced Crossdressing, Humiliation, Knives, M/M, Non-Consensual, Past Mutilation, Ramsay is his own warning, self hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seven_seventy_seven/pseuds/seven_seventy_seven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay makes good on an idle threat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threat

The tattered gown gripped tight to Theon's narrow waist, the low bodice displaying his sunken chest and collarbone. It was a dusty thing, unearthed from gods knows where. The full skirts hung heavy about his wasted hips and legs as he trembled, head tucked low, avoiding Ramsay's eye. Theon did not want to know who had worn it previous.

"Ugliest maid I've ever laid eyes on." Ramsay's eyes flashed with merriment, words slurring, a smirk playing on his lips. "Come come, my sweet wench, won't you please your lord?" 

Ramsay patted his lap with his palms, his face alight with a full toothed smile. How this amused him! He sat in his overstuffed chair by the flickering fire, cup of wine by his side, not the first he had consumed this night. Theon clung to the wall, refusing to look at Ramsay, a keen escaping his throat. He couldn't, he wouldn't!

"What is it my pet? Afraid are you?" Ramsay settled back in his chair, his arm leisurely outstretched, idly fingering a blade, a narrow edge with a vicious hooked tip.

"For every second you cling to that wall, I will give you a lash with my belt." Ramsay frowned, his voice now flat and harsh. He was not smiling now. His grip on the blade tightened. "If you make me fetch you, you will regret it, my Reek."

His momentary resistance crushed, he crept to his lord's chair, skirts swinging heavily about him. Beating, torture, cruel jokes he could take, but never, ever would Theon Greyjoy allow himself to be put in a maid's robes and made to play the woman.

"Closer, now, come here to me..." Ramsay almost crooned, the smirk returned to his face. He caught Theon's frail wrist and gave it a cruel wrench. Theon cried out, he could not help himself. "You know better than to make me wait..." 

Ramsay caught him around the waist and pulled him into his large lap. "That's it. Good Reek. You know, you almost look like a common serving wench. Although a bit uglier than the usual, I suppose." He regarded his Reek thoughtfully, peering into his eyes. Theon's cheeks burned with humiliation, teeth gritting.

Theon struggled in his embrace. Too close, too much. He had rarely been so close before, only when Theon had been on the cross, being flayed of his secrets, had Ramsay pressed this close. Theon feared he would swallow him whole this time, the bulk of Ramsay dwarfing Theon, his breath hot on his neck. His thin chest heaved and his legs kicked weakly, futilely, swimming in the layers of cloth. Ramsay tightened his grip on his hips, his lips just brushing Reek's ear, murmuring softly, "You do know, what lords usually do to serving wenches?" His hand idly wandered between his legs, pulling up at heavy skirts.

At that Theon panicked, jerking bodily and wrenching almost out of Ramsay's grip. No, no, not that, Theon thought wildly. Anything but that. Flay him, mutilate him, please just murder him! But never, ever would he give Ramsay the satisfaction of that!

Quick as a cat, the forgotten blade flashed in Ramsay's hand, tucked up under his chin, nicking the thin flesh it found there. A bead of blood welled, threatening to spill. Theon froze, a sweat rising on his thin frame, breathing hard, back arched.

"Now now, do you hate me so? Any other Dreadfort lass would be happy to serve her lord. A lord must take full advantage of his privileges, do you not agree?" Ramsay's voice was lower now, rasping, but still kept his japing tone. He tugged him back down like a doll, tucking him closer, leaning forward to press his chest into Theon's back. His other hand began to tear at the brocade bodice, groping at what flesh he could reach, fingering scars and still fresh wounds he found there, keeping the blade pressed into the skin just under his jawbone. The curved tip sawed into the wound there as he moved, blood starting to flow freely down his thin neck to the rent neckline.

"Please... No..." Theon groaned out from between gritted teeth. Tears had begun to flow, of their own accord. So weak, he was, so helpless too. A sob caught in his throat, he could not... He felt Ramsay's hips thrust, grinding into him as he struggled weakly. He could not help it, he cried out in fear at this new twist, at this new cruelty.

"So shy she is! Are you a maiden, sweetling? Don't worry, your lord will be gentle..." Ramsay's voice was soft and his breathing was becoming ragged as he ground his hips against Theon's backside. His hands begun to frantically tug at the heavy skirts, pulling back the layers of fabric. "I knew an Ironborn once, a prince he was. He believed in taking his privileges as he saw fit, did he not?" He laughed, low in his throat.

A sob tore from Theon, eyes wild, as his chest heaved in panic. Ramsay's hands finally slipped into his small clothes, fingers sliding against the ruined place they found there. His breath hot, he bit lightly at the flesh of Theon's neck as his stiffened cock rutted against him through the layers of velvet and muslin.

"Oh, you are no man. You are no Ironborn. You are just my Reek, aren't you?" Ramsay was not laughing now, his voice almost a snarl. Theon's head lolled back against Ramsay's shoulder, defeated, his legs splayed to awful searching hands as they fondled him. Ramsay had only touched him there once, to remove that other thing, after the flayings, the beatings, the deprivations and cruelties, that final humiliation, to remove that which had made him a man. And now, this, to touch that awful place that he had made, to touch and caress that ruined place, was this not truly the ultimate humiliation?

A shuddering groan from low in his throat and Ramsay's hips finally stilled. He withdrew his hands from Theon, knife skittering to the floor, Theon limp in his arms. For a moment they sat, still in a lover's embrace, Ramsay breathing heavily, Theon with tear stained cheeks and neck ruined with blood and tooth marks, until Ramsay cruelly shoved him away, letting him sprawl roughly on the chamber floor.

"You disgust me, freak. Get out of my sight." Ramsay snapped and kicked at him with his boot heel as he weakly attempted to stand. "I said get out!" Ramsay's pale eyes blazed. Theon staggered to the heavy door, wrenching it open. 

"I want you back here tomorrow eve, Reek. In the gown. Do you understand?" Ramsay called out coldly from his chair by the fire. Theon leaned heavily against the doorframe, throat frozen, unable to answer.

"Don't make me repeat myself. Do you understand?" Ramsay's voice softened to a dangerously low pitch.

"Y-yes m'lord. Tomorrow eve." Theon choked out, slipping through the door and closing it behind him. He crumpled to the ground, heavy skirts pooled around him, sobbing freely now as he trembled, head in hands, ruined.

He was no man any longer, no Prince, no Ironborn. Lower than a woman, made to play the maiden but in truth an ugly, freakish thing. No woman would ever want him, never touch him again in love or in lust, just as he could never truly have a woman again. 

He was just Ramsay's freak, Ramsay's pet. A plaything to be used at another man's whim.

Reek wept.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic! Comments and constructive criticism most welcome. This fic has not been beta'd, all mistakes my own. Thanks for reading.


End file.
